When I'm walking under trees
I'm free to covet all I please
-Neko Case

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

On sequels

I had mixed emotions of returning to SE Asia and later
Bimini’s Sharklab this past winter.
Eight months since I left from Singapore via Manila and I was back in
Singapore on my way to Bali. Like
Manila, you aim to leave Bali as soon as possible. If the bedbugs in Sanur don’t get you, the
lying-to-you-face-and-smiling-about-it locals will. Spectacular diving made up for the
Philippines and Indonesia’s lackluster food – compared to Vietnam and Malaysia’s
street eats – while men throughout the region with the same leery lineage had
me second guessing.

Returning to two areas I’d previously enjoyed, I was reminded
of Heraclitus of Ephesus that you can never step into the same river. Amid my transient lifestyle with supporting
tattered, water stained passport and scattering of friends, family and lovers
around the globe I was surprised that I’d purposefully chosen to visit the same
place twice.

Feeling SE Asia’s pull through the previous summer coupled
with the dissatisfaction I’d neglected significant pieces and places and
feeling a homesickness for a place that wasn’t my home, I observed a rare place
fidelity. The diving kept me entertained
as I climbed into Robyn’s wetsuit and followed her fin kicks all over Indonesia,
the food in Thailand, Malaysia and Vietnam made my tummy smile but I didn’t clichély
“return for the people.”

Quite the opposite.
There were plenty of people who legitimately could have held me in
Canada. A budding relationship with an
are-you-real? man; a returning-from-where-I-wanted-to-go cousin; a previously incarcerated
brother desperate to fall into a support net; girlfriends getting engaged,
having second children, looking to sell their first home; a mother who, like
me, cries at each parting.

Lonely Planet co-founder Tony Wheeler’s “all you've
got to do is decide to go and the hardest part is over” bounce through my head
as I contemplate where I don’t know I’m going against what, where and who I’ve
(temporarily) left behind.

Attempts to adequately stay in touch are in place but exchanged
emails and unreliable postcards home cannot rival the former ease of daily
life. Even if I chose to dive into the
time consuming and frustrating Skype, all would continue to be a tease of the
former intimacy enjoyed amongst friends and family.

Friend and fellow wanderer, Steph, celebrates
the advancements in communication currency.
I, too, am pleased that I can chat online and mobile phones (that are
financing a civil war in the Democratic Republic of Congo) are more widespread than passable roads but I grieve the loss of
travelers congregating in the common room with nothing to do until someone
produces a pack of cards or, more likely, a box of wine.

The wanderlust incest is still alive and evident as I bumped
into a lifeguard from Bonnie Doon pool on Koh Pha Ngan the next bungalow
over. “Small world!” we exclaimed. Boarding plane four of five to the other side
of the world months later I’m reminded that the world, is in fact, still a very
large place.

Fifty-four hours from Bali to Calgary – the majority of
those legs likely plagued by at least one colicky baby in the cabin. WestJet’s timely April Fool’s joke of
announcing child-free cabins was an outward expression of not only my mile-high
and, if online forums are to be believed, many other travelers’ grievances. My compliments to a girlfriend who drugs her
children for air travel.

While 15 hours of plane travel amounts to a considerable
distance, the same cannot be said of non-air travel. In the same hours required to cross the
Pacific, Robyn and I traveled from Sabang, Mindoro to Sugar Beach on Negros and
were still in the same country! We took
multiple boats, an airplane, a jeepney, a tricycle and numerous there’s-space-in-the-aisle
buses.

While I’ll likely be back in SE Asia – possibly as soon as
this winter – I can’t prematurely predict the same for the Sharklab. While the cast had changed from my previous stint
in 2010, the spectacle had remained the same.
Collectively lured to Bimini by the possibility of a spectacle, the
tears on the porch as I bid the stayers-ons farewell, were for the cast that
had enriched my life. I had arrived with
the expectation of extraordinary experiences, and more than fulfilled, hummed
Colin James’s “Just Came Back to say Goodbye” as I was driven to the airport to
begin taking the long way home – where ever that is...

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About Me

A restless and occasionally reckless wanderer, Sheri divides her time between the boreal forest of Canada in the summer and Sun Place Else for the winters. She considers her valid passport her greatest asset as she is either in the middle of an adventure or planning the next.